


The Birds and the Nest

by SalParadiseLost



Series: Into the Air [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Birbs, Child Abandonment, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Fluff, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, I'm all in for the pack dynamic stuff though, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Nesting, No Sex, No romantic ABO things, Omegaverse SFW Week 2021, Pack Dynamics, Pack Feels, Protective Bruce Wayne, Protective Dick Grayson, Protective Jason Todd, Scenting, Wingfic, a/b/o dynamics, and I love every single one of them, there's a lot of birbs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-24 01:27:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30064560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SalParadiseLost/pseuds/SalParadiseLost
Summary: Bruce Wayne thought his nest would stay empty forever. He was wrong.Bruce adopting his chicks told in a series of nests.-----*Omegaverse SFW Week Prompt: Nesting*
Relationships: Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Jason Todd
Series: Into the Air [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2211846
Comments: 55
Kudos: 401
Collections: Omegaverse SFW Week 2021





	The Birds and the Nest

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first entry for the Omegaverse SFW week on the prompt of nesting! I've really loved writing these birbs and I hope you enjoy them too.
> 
> Species:  
> Bruce Wayne: Verreaux's Eagle  
> Dick Grayson: Common Kingfisher  
> Jason Todd: Lammergeier  
> Tim Drake: Jacobin Cuckoo  
> Damian Wayne: Red-Backed Shrike and Eastern Red Bat
> 
> You can see the species on my wingfic pinterest board [ HERE ](https://pin.it/6Mv8r6h).

Bruce never thought he would be someone who needed a nest. He had stopped building one long ago when it became clear there was no one else to fill it. A bed was suitable a single bird. Nests were for families.

He didn’t have one of those anymore, so why build a nest for ghosts.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like nests.

He had fond memories of them of his father’s ruddy brown wings and his mother’s soft barred feathers. He remembered scouring the house to find the perfect bit of clothing to coat in their flock scent. He remembered how full it felt with his father’s warm rumbles and his mother’s gentle purring.

He remembered crawling into their nest and feeling like it was the safest place in the world.

He also remembered how cold it felt _after._

**

Dick

Hell hath not known fury like a grieving hatchling scorned.

“I hate you!” Dick screamed, his thin wings flaring out behind him, trying to make him look bigger. His bright blue feathers were fluffed to their maximum, his short tail feathers were spread out and he growled, flashing his tiny hatchling fangs.

Bruce didn’t even know what he had done this time.

Dick had been fine earlier this evening, bouncing around and flitting his small wings to give himself extra lift. He would be flying any day now, and Bruce was reading every single piece of parenting advice he could find on the Internet about how to teach a kid to fly.

No matter how many experts he consulted or how many frantic phone calls he made to child development groups, or how many tutorial videos he watched, he still felt grossly underqualified.

And he needed to get this right. He needed Dick to develop a good relationship with flight, especially with the memories of his parents plummeting to the ground still fresh in the boy’s mind.

If he didn’t get this right, Dick could easily become scared of flying and Bruce desperately wanted to be able to give the boy the sky.

Bruce crossed his arms over his chest and kept his own wings tucked neatly against his back.

“Dick, I cannot let you swing on your own from chandeliers. It’s dangerous and you don’t know how to fly yet.”

Dick’s wings got somehow fluffier and he pouted as tears began to roll down his cheeks. His face was getting red and small sobs were getting caught in his throat.

“You’re not my father!” Dick spat with more fury than Bruce had ever heard from a hatchling. “Stop trying to replace him because you’re not him.”

Bruce was silent as Dick kept going. His words losing their anger and becoming filled with tears.

“Stop acting like you wanna be him. You’re not my dad. I’m not your son.”

Bruce’s heart broke and all the air left his lungs like he had been punched. Bruce would have preferred the boy’s anger, anything would have been better than the chick’s fragmented misery.

“Stop acting like you’re happy that they’re dead, so you could take me in instead. They are still my parents.”

Bruce was frozen in the hallway, caught between fleeing and reaching out to hug the obviously hurting hatchling.

He desperately wanted to be Dick’s father, but he would give up the role if that meant Dick’s parents could come back. It would tear him apart because he already thought of this little chick as his son, but if giving him up meant Dick was happier then he would do it in a heartbeat.

How did he respond? How did he even begin to ease some of the hurt wrapped up in this grieving child? How could be make this better when almost everything he did make it somehow worse?

“Dick, I—”

And before he could finish, Dick was turning on his heel and dashing into the depths of the Manor. In a few seconds, the hatchling was gone, but the sour smell of mourning child lingered.

The alpha part of him inside begged for him to chase after the hatchling, to bundle him up and stroke through his feathers until the tears were gone.

But that was something a father did for a chick.

Bruce didn’t have the privilege to be that.

The man sighed. It was getting late, and he doubted that he would be able to find Dick if he didn’t want to be found. He was quickly learning that the best method was often to wait till Dick came back till him. Hunting him down would be too intrusive when all the boy wanted was space.

Bruce tucked in his dark wings close to him and went to his bedroom. He hoped that the young kingfisher would come back to him soon.

Dick came crawling into his bed around 4am, startling Bruce awake.

“Bruce?” Dick’s small voice wobbled. “Bruce, wake up.”

Bruce blearily blinked the sleep out of his eyes and met the teary blue eyes of a kid about to burst out crying. The Batman part of him quickly catalogued the boy for injuries and when he found the boy unharmed, the most fearful parts of him quieted. But once Batman took a backseat, the extremely underprepared parent, Bruce Wayne, took charge.

His new parental instincts blared, making him nervous and desperate at the same time. The kid in front of him sniffled wetly and hesitated on the edge of the nest. Bruce could see him melting trying to figure out if he was welcome. The eagle lifted a wing in silent invitation and soon the chick was curling up against him.

“Oh sweetheart,” he murmured into his boy’s bright blue plumage. He brushed his fingers through the white and gold downy feathers on his inner wings. He brought up one of his own black wings to cover the kid and brush against Dick’s cheek. “What’s the matter?”

“I don’t hate you,” he practically cried, his voice was breaking with the threat of a sob. “I promise you I don’t hate you.”

The kingfisher slumped into his chest, tears wetting the front of Bruce’s shirt. “I’m sorry I said I hated you. I don’t.”

Bruce huffed, stroking the soft baby feathers and the base of Dick’s neck. The chick leaned into the comforting touch.

“I know, chum,” Bruce whispered, continuing to soothe away the boy’s distress. “I know you didn’t mean it.”

Dick made a sound caught between a whimper and a sob, and the sound broke Bruce’s heart. “I miss them.”

Everything in Bruce ached with the desire to fix this. But how could he fix this? He knew the pain of losing parents. He knew the helpless horror of his life shatter suddenly and irreversibly in a second.

He knew how the blood continued to haunt him to this day and he wished he could save Dick from it.

But even though he was powerful in so many ways, he was utterly useless against the throes of grief.

“I miss my parents too,” Bruce whispered, so low that he wondered for a second if Dick heard. The kid twisted in his arms, though, meeting his eyes. Bruce was glad to see that the tears were slowly stopping.

“Does it ever hurt less?”

Did it?

Bruce asked himself that question many times and he still didn’t have an answer.

“Eventually, yes. It never fully stops hurting, but the hurt changes and you learn to fill your heart with other love too.”

Dick blinked, his eyes impossibly huge and innocent. “I don’t want to forget them.”

Bruce hugged the boy as close as he dared, afraid that he might break the chick’s delicate bones if he clutched him any tighter.

“You won’t forget them, Dick. You won’t.”

The hatchling hesitated, something obviously mulling in his mind. “Papa will always be my father,” Dick said slowly, like he was afraid Bruce would cut him off at any point. “But I think I’d like you to be my Dad too.”

Bruce blinked and it felt the prickling of tears at the corners of his eyes.

The hatchling sniffled again and nuzzled against the bottom of Bruce’s chin. He put his nose against Bruce’s scent gland with a small hatchling chirp and a silent invitation. The alpha in Bruce whined and he silently began to rub it scent all over the chick, bathing the kid in warm protection.

 _His son,_ he thought as he curled the hatchling fully into his wings.

It had been so long since his nest had been full.

**

Jason

Bruce didn’t have a problem with how lammergeiers were portrayed in media until he had a lammergeier chick himself.

Dick and Jason were playfully wrestling against each other as they waited in line for a movie. It was some kind of spy action thriller that Dick insisted on seeing in a midnight premiere and Jason begged to come along. Bruce had easily turned it into a family outing and was now getting the rare opportunity to see his boys being normal brothers.

Brothers that seemed to be about two minutes away from breaking each other’s bones.

Dick had caught Jason’s head in a headlock and was relentlessly ruffling his hair as the lammergeier screeched. Bruce was getting dirty looks from the other patrons, but hell, he paid over twenty dollars a movie ticket just like everyone else, they could suck it up.

Jason had slipped out of Dick’s hold and was now using Bruce as a human shield. Dick looked like he might just tackle Bruce to get to Jason, but by some stroke of luck the theatre doors opened, and they were let into the premiere.

The boy’s fighting stopped, immediately distract by the lure of a movie, and they dashed inside to their designated seats while Bruce followed smoothly behind. Dick placed Jason between him and Bruce, following his instincts that told him to have the hatchling in the middle of the older birds.

The silent protective action made a proud alpha part of him purr in delight and he shot Dick a thankful glance. His eldest smiled back, chatting with Jason until the lights went dark and the movie began.

Bruce knew he should have been more through in reading the movie summary when the villain appeared on screen. He was a lammergeier, huge with wide wings that stretched menacingly to either side of him. The usually cream coloured covert feathers were tainted a dark, almost black, red.

It was a weird genetic quirk, unique to the lammergeier species. All fledglings started with cream-coloured coverts, and, for most lammergeiers they stayed that way. But for some reason science hadn’t parsed, every time a lammergeier killed another bird their feathers came in a shade redder.

Bruce looked down to his little boy, the hint of cream that was just peeking out from his relaxed wings, and he prayed that he would never have to see them reddened.

“Lammergeiers,” the action hero hissed, her face twisting in disgust. “I knew I never should have trusted you the moment I saw your wings.”

“You shouldn’t have,” the villain laughed cruelly, “you know what they say about vultures. We can’t be trusted, but you were so quick to think I could be reformed.”

Jason’s small hand twisted into Bruce’s shirt, a look of shame starting to take over his face.

“I guess you were too dumb this time, songbird.” The villain launched into a spiel about his masterful plan, but Bruce wasn’t paying any attention.

His eyes were caught on the raw hurt and discomfort playing on his youngest’s face.

The villain on the screen spread his wings again, the camera panning over the wine-red feathers, and his little boy flinched, tucking in his wings as close as he possibly could.

Bruce had enough. He didn’t need Jason to be hearing this.

He stood, ignoring the protests of the people behind him and scooped his chick into his arms. Jason was really too big to be carried, but he didn’t resist and only went boneless against his shoulder.

“Come on, Dick, we’re leaving.”

Dick was looking between the screen and Bruce frantically. “But B, there’s only like fifteen minutes left.”

Bruce growled, his alpha coming through. “ _We’re leaving.”_

Jason couldn’t be here any longer. He didn’t need to hear this poison or to see lammergeier get shot out of the sky because of his wings.

Dick’s spine instantly straightened, and he followed Bruce out without another word of compliant. He kept shooting anxious glances to Bruce and Jason, clearly confused and upset by what he was seeing. The beta in his eldest must be going crazy with trying to figure out what had disturbed his flock.

Bruce tucked his boys into the back of the Bentley and drove them home.

He was going to have an extremely long and scathing talk with a movie director and the CEO of a movie studio tonight.

When he was finished with his call, it was almost 3am and his nest was calling him. He stepped into the darkened room and smiled when he saw two lumps burrowed under the blankets.

The only parts of his boys he could see were Dick’s bright blue wings and Jason’s ruddy brown wings splayed haphazardly all over them. The angles could not possibly be comfortable, but Jason snored peacefully on.

Bruce padded closer and gently shifted the chick’s wings into a position that wouldn’t leave them aching in the morning.

Jason snuffled into wakefulness, chirping lazily as he laid eyes on Bruce. Bruce’s alpha rumbled happily, and something about the small action warmed his heart.

Just a year ago, Jason would have panicked if he woke up and saw Bruce standing over him. The little hatchling had come to them so afraid of men, too scarred by his time on the streets to willing accept Bruce’s affection. It had taken them months to convince Jason that they weren’t going to hurt him, but once he was convinced, he integrated easily into their small flock.

Bruce brushed a hand through the chick’s inky hair and gently stroked the downy feathers on the nape of Jason’s neck. He sat on the bed, taking one of Jason’s wings into his hands and preening through the feathers. The wing was already soft and clean, so he settled on comfortingly petting the fluffy coverts. Jason hummed, turning his head so he could watch Bruce preening him.

His boy’s blue-green eyes were distant and deep, older than a chick’s should be. Jason was so young, but he had already seen the worst the world had to offer and every reminder of it, sent a knife through Bruce’s heart.

“Go back to sleep Jason,” Bruce whispered, hoping to pet away some of the seriousness in the hatchling’s eyes.

Jason’s eyes didn’t lose their sombre shade though. “How can you stand it?”

Bruce’s brow furrowed. “Stand what?”

“Touching my wings.”

Bruce choked, the three words like a dagger to his heart. He had taken hits from the Rogue’s gallery that hurt less than his son asking how Bruce could stand him.

“Jason, I love you. Of course, I wouldn’t have any reservations touching your wings.” Bruce didn’t stop stroking the cream coverts.

“But they’re violent,” Jason whispered, shame flickering in his voice. “They are going to be red someday.”

“They don’t have to be,” Bruce insisted. He could never imagine his little boy’s pale inner wings becoming dark with blood.

“But what if they do,” Bruce could hear Jason slowly becoming more upset. “What if they turn red?”

The alpha hummed, laying down and putting one of his own black wings over the boy. “Then, I would still love you anyways.”

Jason sniffled, rubbing his cheek against the wrist of Bruce’s wings. “You promise?”

Bruce tucked Jason’s head under his chin and kissed into the soft hair.

“I promise. I don’t care if your wings turned black, you would never stop being my son.”

**

Tim

Bruce didn’t know what he was expecting when Jason told him he needed to come to the Drake manor on a windy summer day.

Jason had called from a stranger’s phone, told him that he had crash-landed, and promptly sent Bruce into a near heart attack.

He rushed to the neighbour’s house as fast as he could, speeding through the empty street and pulling into the Drake’s long driveway. His head was filled with fears of blood and broken bones, his little boy crumpled on the ground with wings slack around him.

He didn’t expect to find Jason sitting cross-legged on the floor with a young cuckoo sprawled across his lap.

The small chick was purring fiercely, the rumbling sound filling the entry hall. Jason had his hands in the boy’s wings, pulling out bits of down fluff and placing them in a small pile next to him. The scent of happy omega floated through the air, though, beyond it, seeped in all corner of this house, was rancid _abandonment_.

Jason looked up when he walked in and snorted. “Took you long enough. You’re losing your edge.”

It hadn’t been more than twenty minutes and Bruce forced himself to stifle a smile. It was better not to encourage Jason’s sass no matter how much it entertained him.

Jason looked beyond him with a raised eyebrow. “Did you bring Dick?”

A bit of guilt swooped through Bruce’s stomach. He had forgotten to let Dick know that he was leaving.

He groaned internally. That was going to earn him either a frantic phone call now or a long lecture about communication later.

“No. I left him at the Manor.”

Jason hummed, stroking through the little bird’s feathers and pulling a few bits of fluff out. “That’s probably good. I don’t want to overwhelm the chick,”

The fledgling flinched in Jason’s lap, and his half-downy wings puffed up twice their size. “I’m not a chick. I’m practically a grown-up.”

The older omega hummed and gave the chick an affectionate look. “No, of course, you’re not.”

Jason looked up to Bruce, quirking an eyebrow. “Bruce, meet Timmy. He helped me when I crashed in his backyard. Tim, meet Bruce. He’s the old fart that kidnapped me when I tried to steal his stuff.”

“I didn’t kidnap you. I gave you a meal and a warm place to sleep.”

“Yeah. After you practically stuffed me into your car.”

Bruce huffed and held out a hand to the young boy. “Bruce Wayne, nice to meet you.”

“Timothy Drake,” the fledgling replied tentatively, “though we’ve already met at a couple galas.”

Bruce raked his memory for any image of this small slip of a boy. He vaguely remembered a small figure following the Drakes, as silent and unobtrusive as a shadow. The Drakes didn’t show up to many galas. They were usually on vacation.

“Where’s your parents?” Bruce asked, eyes looking around the seemingly empty house. His voice echoed down the hallways.

“Thailand,” Tim said, spreading a wing out so Jason could have better access to the hidden feathers underneath. The omega preened through them thoroughly with a huff. “I think. They change their itinerary a lot.”

A sinking feeling began to settle deep into his stomach.

“Who’s taking care of you?”

“Ms. Mac comes during the weekends.”

Jason looked up, meeting Bruce’s eyes. There was a deadly seriousness there, a hint of bubbling anger that Bruce got a peek of whenever Jason saw innocents getting preyed upon. It never failed to make his punches harder, his jabs faster and his eyes more merciless.

Right now, that fierce protectiveness was directed towards the abandoned hatchling and Bruce didn’t see any reason to stop it.

“I see,” said Bruce, even though he absolutely did _not_ see how parents could think leaving a chick alone in a house for long periods of time was okay. “Tim, would you like to come to dinner tonight? Maybe stay with us for a while? We would love to have you.”

Tim flinched in Jason’s lap, rolling out of it and standing on his feet. The boy was even smaller than Bruce had thought originally. One of Tim’s wings came up to brush against his own cheek— a self-soothing action that most chicks grew out of once their parents comforted them instead.

Seeing Tim do it so instantly made something sour in Bruce’s stomach.

“Thank you, but no thank you, Mr. Wayne. I wouldn’t want to be a burden.”

Bruce shook his head. “You wouldn’t be a burden. I’m inviting you and I’m sure my boys would love to have someone else to play with.”

Tim bit his lip hesitantly, looking between Jason and Bruce. The lammergeier shrugged and stood too.

“Just give up, baby bird. He’s in the process of kidnapping you too and it’s a lot easier if you just go along with it.”

The older boy ruffled Tim’s hair and Bruce didn’t miss the way that fledgling leaned into the touch.

“I mean, if you say so…” Tim looked to Bruce for confirmation again and the eagle nodded.

“Why don’t you go get a few of your things together? Jason and I can help you.”

Together, they followed the fledgling deeper into his mausoleum of a house. The scents of Jack and Janet Drake were almost completely absent, with only the barest traces of them at the edges. There was no warm flock ambience or any suggestion of multiple birds being here at all.

The only overwhelming scent was Tim’s. His pungent distress and loneliness soaked into every wall. Being surrounded by it put Bruce completely on edge and he had to hold himself back from scooping the child up and taking him far away from this empty house.

“And this is my room,” Tim chirped, zooming into the dim room, flicking on a light switch as he did. It was messy and filled with Batman merchandise that brought a smile to Bruce’s face.

“I see you like Batman,” he chuckled, picking up a small sweatshirt with the batsymbol lit up on it. Tim paled a little bit. He must have been embarrassed at having his childhood obsession found out.

“Yeah, uh, I think he’s really cool,” he muttered, face flushing. Suddenly his head shot up and he hurriedly said, “I think Robin is really awesome too.”

Jason laughed, knocking one of his wings against Tim’s. “I do too. Definitely better than the old bat. Now let’s get you packed.”

Bruce watched silently as the two omegas began to pack up Tim’s suitcases. Neither of the trucks looked like they had ever been used, in fact both still had the price tags on them.

Another chill of anger swooped through Bruce’s stomach.

He set himself on to pulling out some clothes from the boy’s closet instead of thinking about how much he wanted to punch the Drakes.

When he opened the door, he saw a sight that would haunt him for the rest of his life.

Because tucked into the back corner of the closet was a tiny nest.

A tiny nest that couldn’t possibly fit more than a hatchling. It was a bundle of rags with shirts padding the edges of it and a visible dip where Timothy would have slotted himself into. Tim’s down feathers were speckled through the clothing and bits of baby fuzz dotted the heap.

It held none of the comforting scent that nests were supposed to have. The only thing Bruce could smell from it was pure loneliness, misery and desperate want for his flock. Even the shirts, which the chick had obviously placed there to get a sense of his parents, didn’t smell like anything but distress anymore.

Chicks weren’t meant to have nests on their own. Especially not at this age when they should be getting constantly preened and pampered.

This small nest only proved how long Tim had gone without anyone to care for him in vivid and heart-wrenching clarity.

Bruce took a few jackets out of the closet, draping them across his arm. He could hardly take his eyes off of the tiny, upsetting nest. He could imagine Tim curled up in it, crying for a flock that was on the other side of the world.

How many times had he slept in it? How many times had he shoved his face into the shirts, chasing the scent of parents who abandoned him? How many times had he wished for them to come back, only to have that hope broken time and time again?

Bruce grit his teeth and began to aggressively shove more clothes into his arms.

When he judged that he had the appropriate amount of clothes to last Tim for a while, he shut the door. The small, sad nest disappeared from view.

As he guided the little fledgling out of the mansion, he swore that Tim would never have to sleep alone in a tiny nest for as long as Bruce lived.

**

Bruce’s nest went cold again.

Bruce cried as he remembered the chill of the _after_.

His dismantled the nest the next day but didn’t put away every piece of clothing. He kept every single feather he found, especially the cream-coloured coverts. He tucked the small shirts that still held Jason’s scent under his pillow.

His instincts wanted him to chirrup, a small rolling sound that was supposed to bring a hatchling close.

It was almost like part of him didn’t understand…

That the fledgling in his head was now a ghost…

**

Jason. Again.

Jason came back like a wildfire.

He roared into Bruce’s life, spitting flames with vengeance in his eyes.

His fury was red. Red like crimson stain of the underside of his covert feathers.

They were supposed to be cream coloured. A warm gold tinted white. They were supposed to be innocent of blood.

They were never ever supposed to be shaded red.

Bruce watched as his angry phantom of a son dropped something heavy at his feet. A burlap sack, kicking and struggling.

“Hey dad,” he growled, his wings spread menacing out to either side. Bruce couldn’t take his eyes off of the crimson feathers. “Guess who’s back.”

“Jason?” The word caught in his throat and he felt himself shaking.

Was this a dream? A hallucination? A fantasy?

If it was, why did Jason look so angry? Was the ghost of his little boy coming back to haunt, an anger illusion of what he’d never have? Why would he imagine this? Why would he show himself Jason with his feathers turned red?

The hallucination laughed and the cruel sound rang throughout the front hall of the Manor.

“I had to stop by a tower and get some take out before I came here,” Jason snarled, his sharp teeth flashing in the dim evening light. “I know how much you love little birds.”

Jason ripped open the top of the bag, and Tim burst from it, still in Red Robin costume. He was flailing wildly, trying to land a frantic punch on Jason’s jaw. The ghost caught the cuckoo’s wrist easily, wrenching it out of shape and smiling as the smaller bird cried out in pain.

The sound was piercing through the air, and it made something in Bruce shatter. Tim’s pain broke the possibility that this was a hallucination and Bruce’s mind scrambled to try to keep up. He took a step forward, ready to launch himself at Jason and rip Tim from his grasp, but Jason whipped out a knife and pressed it against Tim’s throat.

“Now, now, now,” Jason taunted, pressing the knife in a little more with each word. “I wouldn’t come any closer. Because I can easily do something permanent.”

Tim gulped, and the blade of the knife bobbed on his neck.

“What do you want, Hood?” Bruce said, his eyes not straying from Jason but also trying desperately figure out how to get Tim away from him.

Why would Jason do this to Tim? Jason loved Tim. The cuckoo followed the lammergeier around like a duckling and his second oldest was zealously protective of the hatchling.

At least they were…

Until…

Until what? What happened to turn his bright little boy into something so sharp and fragile like broken glass.

“I want to know how much time it took you to find my replacement. Was one Robin dead not enough to stop you?” Jason spat, his eyes going dark and dangerous. All of the playful cruelty was suddenly replaced by white-hot anger that burned Bruce’s chest.

“Jaylad, I could never replac—”

“SHUT UP!” Jason exploded, his wings flaring and all of his crimson feathers spreading to make him look bigger.

Jason was so big now. How did he get so big?

“I don’t want your lies,” Jason shifted his hands, he put the knife in his right palm. He put Tim’s delicate throat into the crook of his left arm, still ready to choke out Tim’s life at any moment.

Tim gave a tiny, almost soundless whimper.

“You threw another bird in the sky,” The knife in Jason’s hand went to the white patch in Tim’s wing, the small dash of pale in the otherwise ink black primaries. “You shouldn’t be surprised when they fall.”

Jason slashed through the primary feathers, sawing them off while looking Bruce dead in the eye. Bruce choked, jerked forward, but Jason’s feral snarl stopped him in his tracks.

Silent tears fell down Tim’s cheeks and his knuckles were white as he clawed against Jason’s thick arm.

Tim’s primary feathers fell to the ground, a sea of dark blades littering the floor. He looked painfully smaller with half of his wing gone.

“There’s a lot of stairs in this house,” Jason mused, a finger tracing along the cut edge of a jagged feather. Tim shivered, but kept his chin held high. “I’m sure we can find a window to see how well he flies now.”

“No!” Bruce yelled, an arm reaching towards his little boy. Jason’s arm tightened around the white column of Tim’s neck, cutting off his air. Tim’s clawing at Jason’s arm became more and more frantic as his face grew redder.

“Jason, stop you’re going to kill your br—”

Tim keened, a hollow omega sound, that Bruce couldn’t possibly copy. It was a call that meant _please. Help me. Please come here._ But Tim wasn’t calling for Bruce. This was the call only between omegas, a young one to his maternal figure…

His maternal figure that was always…

Jason startled, like he had been physically struck. His eyes went wide, pupils going round, as he slowly looked down at the hatchling clutched in his grasp. Bruce could see the fury and the astonishment warring for dominance on face.

Tim whimpered and keened again. The sound echoing and pleading.

The alpha in Bruce went wild, desperate to get to his flockmember and take him from danger. He didn’t move, though, Jason’s arm was still wrapped around Tim’s neck, even if it was slowly slackening.

The lammergeier’s wings drooped, losing their menacing air and the feathers smoothing out.

“Tim?” he whispered, his voice wobbling. He seemed to be trying to get out words, but the syllables dissolved into a responding omega keen. Bruce didn’t think he’d ever hear Jason make that sound again and something about it instinctually calmed the alpha in Bruce.

“Jason,” Tim whimpered. He was breathing more easily now, and instead of clawing at his brother’s arm, he seemed to be holding on tightly.

“Jason” he repeated the name like it was a holy word. “You came home.”

Jason dropped his brother like he had been burned. His wings snapped tight against his back, crimson feathers hidden completely from view.

Tim landed heavily on the ground, but immediately began to shove himself up and towards Jason. The lammergeier took stumbling steps back and looked frantically between Tim and Bruce.

The fury was still there, but it was now coating in a thick layer of astonishment and horror.

Tim made another whining omega sound and Jason’s eyes snapped on to the smaller bird. His gaze didn’t leave Tim as the bird, slowly brought up a hand and peeled off the scent blocker that was sealed to his collarbone.

Tim’s omega scent instantly filled the room. The usually smooth smell (rich coffee, cinnamon, fall petrichor) was soured by lingering fear and a desperate desire to have his flock omega close.

Bruce wanted that too. He _desperately_ wanted to fill that hole in his flock and the hole in his heart.

Please. Let my baby boy come back.

Bruce rumbled, a deep, rolling sound that shook his very bones. He watched the call effect Jason, the way the hatchling met his gaze and dipped his head.

The lammergeier responded with a warble, looking surprised with himself that he made it back.

It was a flock exchange.

A response meant that some deep part of Jason still wanted to be theirs.

But, Jason took a step back. Then another.

His eyes were wild and rolling in his head. His wings jerked behind him, desperate, frantic movements that made the feathers ruffle. Terror rolled off of him in waves, and he kept whipping his head between Tim and Bruce like a cornered animal.

“Jason,” Bruce’s heart broke along with his heart, “Stay. Come home.”

Jason flinched like he had been struck, his wings flaring protectively around him. The crimson feathers brushed against his cheek.

He took a deep breath, turned around and disappeared into the night.

Neither him nor Tim spoke, and their heavy pants filled the otherwise silent front hall.

“Tim,” he said, coming over to his boy. His heart twisted in his chest when his eyes landed on Tim’s half-shorn left wing. Almost all his primaries were gone, sawed off almost as the base of the feathers. The charming white stripe that Tim’s wing usually had was almost completely gone. “Are you okay?”

“Mostly. I think my wrist is sprained.”

“Okay,” Bruce leaned down, and took Tim into his arms. The boy was probably too big to be carried, he was almost sixteen after all, but the bird practically fell into his alpha’s arms. Tim clasped his arms around the back of Bruce’s neck and tucked his nose against Bruce’s scent gland.

“Do you think he’ll come back?” Tim asked into his neck and the feeling of his lips made Bruce shiver. He couldn’t help looking towards the front door that Jason had left through.

“Maybe,” Bruce answered, not knowing whether he wanted to name the feeling in his chest as hope.

He turned and carried Tim to the nest he had upstairs.

He thought about how he would expand it now that Jason was bigger.

**

Damian 

Damian was dropped into Bruce’s life with a quick word and a cold shoulder.

Bruce thought that maybe he would be used to raising hatchlings by now. After all, he had raised Dick, Jason and Tim, and all of them turned out more or less fine. They all had their rough edges, but underneath that, were hearts of gold that Bruce would never stop being proud of.

Damian though… Damian was proving to be more than Bruce could handle.

“Submit to me, wretch,” Damian spat, his wings flaring to look bigger even though the older lammergeier obviously larger than him in every way. His second son was sitting cross-legged on the ground with Tim partially in his lap, wings spread. They were in the middle of a preening until Damian crashed into the room.

Jason took one flat look at him, raised an unimpressed eyebrow, and said “no”. He turned away from the posturing fledgling and returned to grooming through Tim’s feathers.

Tim shot Damian a look that was pure smug victory.

Normal boys would have probably stomped off in frustration at this point, but Damian wasn’t a normal boy. Instead, he was a highly trained assassin who had been treated like a prince his entire life.

With a war cry, Damian launched across the room, tackling Tim right out of Jason’s lap.

Tim screeched, instantly buffeting Damian with his wings as they rolled across the floor grappling against each other.

Jason sighed, exhaustedly used to this at this point. He looked to Dick for help, but his older brother had suddenly become eagerly engrossed in reading a book that had been sitting on the coffee table moments before.

Bruce didn’t exactly blame him.

“Some beta peacemaker you are,” Jason mumbled as he got up and approached the raging ball of feathers, punching limbs and scratching claws.

“Knock it off,” Jason spat, toeing the wrestling fledglings. Luckily, Damian had yet to draw a weapon, but it really was only a matter of time. Bruce had seen multiple times how easily Tim and Damian’s scraps had gone from roughhousing to potentially deadly.

Tim broke free of the wrestling, hiding behind Jason with an affronted look on his face. Damian snarled from the ground, his half-feathered and half-bat wings curling around him.

“You can’t attack Tim just because he’s getting attention and you’re not,” Jason said, looking down at the chick through narrowed eyes.

“Drake was obviously being incorrigible,” Damian shot back, giving Tim a dirty look. “He needs to be taught his place.”

Jason sighed again, and Bruce could see the flickers of true anger beginning to edge into his expression.

Jason had been protective of Tim ever since the moment he had found the hatchling in the empty Drake mansion. Maybe it was the omega in him, or maybe it was just that Jason always had a soft spot for abandoned children, but the cuckoo was always _his_ in a sense. And because of that, he didn’t take too kindly to threats against Tim.

It was only natural for their newest member to be fighting for the flock omega’s attention. He was unsure about his place in the flock, and instincts told him gaining the favour of the oldest omega would give him a sense of security. It wasn’t uncommon for new members to have a couple spats as everyone settled into the new order.

Unfortunately for Damian, he was going about earning Jason’s attention in the absolutely wrong way.

“And how do you suggest ‘Drake is taught his place’?” Jason said, putting finger quotes around Damian’s words.

Damian stood, tilting his chin up, fire in his eyes. “A duel into submission. League rules mandate it either be by grave injury or making the opponent black out.”

Bruce groaned, and silently cursed Talia for the messed-up flock dynamics that she had ingrained into Damian.

Jason’s gaze lingered on the chick, who was practically growling and flashing his teeth at the cuckoo. Something in his eyes minutely sharpened, and, in alpha in Bruce was put instantly in high alert.

“Yeah no,” Jason said, a hint of a snarl in the words. “That’s not going to happen.”

The lammergeier turned, taking Tim along with him. He shot a venomous glare to Bruce, a sneer tugging at his lips. “Control your feral child, alpha,” he under his breath, levelling Bruce.

He couldn’t help a small flinch and looked beyond Jason to the small chick who was watching them from a distance. Damian’s wings were drooping, confusion was breaking through his otherwise placid face.

Bruce’s heart twisted painfully at seeing his newest son look so lost. It was an alpha’s place to direct the flock and lead them. He was doing a piss poor job of it when half his flock was seemingly turning against the other.

“Damian,” he said, rising from the couch. The boy visibly flinched, snapping his head towards Bruce and warily regarding him.

It achingly reminded him of Jason when they had brought him home all those years ago.

“Why don’t you come with me? He need to have a talk.”

Something in Damian’s face shattered and Bruce didn’t know what he had said wrong. He led the boy up the stairs to his room, and the boy followed silently after him like he was being marched to the gallows.

He opened the door to his room, silently ushering Damian into the room.

The chick hesitated in the door, his eyes going impossibly wide.

“Father?” his voice wobbled.

“Get in the room, Damian,” Bruce said, pushing on his son’s lower back to urge him forward. Damian went in with a hung head and stood in the middle of the room.

“Where do you want me?” he asked, his voice low and resigned. Bruce didn’t know what he thought he was resigned to.

“There is fine,” he said, shutting the door behind him.

The sound of the door closing made Damian flinch and Bruce froze. What did Damian think was going to happen?

Damian shuddered, and then, he collapsed to his knees baring his back to Bruce. His hands were shaking as he began to slip out of his shirt. He took off the button that clasped over his wings and brought the shirt up over his head. His naked back and spread wings looked achingly small in the dim evening light.

“What weapon are you using?” He asked, looking listlessly at the wall in front of him.

Bruce choked and Damian met his eyes over his shoulder. His gaze travelled down to Bruce’s hands, searching for whatever torture device he thought he might be holding. His eyes caught on Bruce’s waist, and the tension on his face grew.

“A belt then,” he said, his tiny shoulders and wings settling on the floor below.

Bruce’s heart was breaking in his chest as he saw his son brace for pain. It reminded him all too much of another chick who had been afraid of Bruce’s every movement.

“No Damian, I’m not going to hurt you,” he whispered, laying a hand on Damian’s delicate shoulder. The bones were thin and breakable under his palm.

Damian flinched harder and now there were tears rolling down his cheeks. Bruce didn’t know how to make them stop. He whipped his head around, meeting Bruce’s eyes with a watery gaze.

“Are you not going to punish me for attacking Drake? The typical punishment within the League was lashings.”

Bruce felt like he was the one being beaten with every word that Damian said.

“No, son,” the horror was thick in his voice, “I’m not going to beat you with a belt.”

“I can take it! Just do, father! I swear I can take it!” Damian pleaded, his lip wobbled, and he looked even more broken. There was something frantic and desperate gleaming in his eyes.

“No, Damian.”

Damian collapsed, landing hard on his chest, a small sob rattling him.

“Then what punishment do you require?”

Bruce shook his head, crossing the room and sitting heavily on the bed. “Come here, Damian.”

The little chick gazed at Bruce in horror, his entire body shaking. Disbelief and terror mixed on his face and his eyes flickered anxiously between Bruce and the bed.

“Father?” his voice was cracking. “Do you not think of me as a son?”

Bruce tilted his head. “Of course, I do.”

“And you still want me to get on the bed?”

Why was that so surprising to Damian?

“Yes, Damian, please come here.”

The chick still seemed frozen, and then, something that looked like giving up crossed his face. He picked himself up from the floor and dragged himself to the bed. He crawled up on the other side, far away from Bruce as he could possibly be.

Bruce watched as he laid down and began to fumble with his pants. Bruce didn’t think he could get more horrified, but as he watched his son shake and try to strip in front of him, a deep and instant protectiveness washed over him.

His mind flashed back to another fledgling. Another time when he had scared a chick into fearing the absolute worst.

Only a little bit taller than Damian and heart-wrenchingly thinner. Another fledgling who thought that he had to earn his place into the flock through giving up the most precious parts of himself.

“No!” he yelped, capturing Damian’s wrist in his hand and stopping the chick for stripping more. “No, Damian, you don’t have to do that.”

“I have to be punished,” Damian cried, his voice cracking and tears rolling down his red cheeks. “I don’t want to leave, so I have to be punished so I can stay.”

Bruce thinks that he felt his heart shatter on the floor and get impossibly more crushed.

“I’m not going to punish you or force you to leave.”

“They what do you want me to do, Father!” Damian spat, anger and sorrow and frustration all bubbling to the surface. “I have obviously displeased you and Todd through trying to duel with Drake, and I don’t know what to do!”

He glared into a pillow and when he spoke again his voice was quieter.

“Everyone hates me here. I’m trying to be part of the flock, but everyone hates me.” Damian sniffled and shoved his head into the comforter. “And if you don’t think I am able to be rehabilitated through punishment, then you’re going to banish me.”

Bruce sighed and put a hand on his boy’s wings. Damian only had one row of coverts that gave way to warm, leather bat wings. It was a rare mix, usually children took on the wings of one parent or another, but they fit Damian perfectly.

His boy, so young but already caught between two worlds.

“I’m not going to banish you and I’m not going to hurt you either. You’re my son.” Bruce got up from the bed and retrieved Damian’s shirt. He handed over the small bit of fabric to the boy, and the chick thankfully slipped back into it. Bruce sat back on the bed, and helped Damian click the buttons on the back of the shirt.

“Am I really your son?” Damian questioned, “Even when all the others don’t want me here.”

Internally, Bruce sighed. He was going to need to smooth things over and quick. He couldn’t let this rift develop between his family and risk Damian feeling more isolated than he already was.

“Do you know where you are?” Bruce asked, and the boy scrunched his face.

“Your bedroom,” he answered quickly, and Bruce nodded.

“That’s right, but you’re also in the middle of my nest. The flock’s nest. Only family is allowed in here.”

Damian gazed at the bed and the bunches of clothing and blankets that formed a nest shape around it. His eyes were uncertain, and Bruce realised that it was quite possible that he had never seen a nest before. He didn’t understand the weight they carried.

He didn’t know how to be a chick within a flock either.

Bruce would have to fix this, one lesson at a time.

He cursed Talia again, and then gently began explaining the concept of nests to Damian.  
  


**

Bruce didn’t know how but the day ended with all his boys in his nest.

Dick was clutching Damian close to his chest, one bright blue wing flung over the chick and the other hanging off of the bed. Bruce could hardly see Tim. He was tucked fully under Jason’s wing and only his dark head poking out. Jason was laying on his belly, wings haphazardly splayed.

It was possibly the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.

He smiled to himself and crossed to the other side of the bed. He tucked Dick’s wings back on to the bed, shifting them into a more comfortable position. His son murmured sleepily and blearily stuck an arm out, reaching for Bruce.

Bruce laughed and tucked himself into the nest, hugging his oldest son close. The kingfisher hummed contentedly, a gentle purr coming from his chest.

Bruce stroked through the soft gold coverts of the insides of Dick’s wings until his boy fell back to sleep.

He spread out one of his own black wings across all of his children and settled down into his full nest. 

The chill from all the _after_ ’s of before were nowhere to be found.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I will be filling out every day of this week with stories within this universe. They will expand on themes mentioned here and give depth to some events only mentioned in this story. So if you want more wingfic, follow this series! Cause I literally have five other fics ready to be released into the world.
> 
> \-----
> 
> You can visit my tumblr at [ SalParadiseLost ](https://salparadiselost.tumblr.com) where I post tumblr things and general writing musings.
> 
> Please leave a kudos and comment! Flattery gets you everywhere.


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